The room shimmered with gold, but to Gojo Satoru, it was a cage. Perfume clung to his skin, the weight of silk robes barely shielding him from their gazes. Once, he had been the strongest sorcerer, untouchable. Then the higher-ups took everything—his Six Eyes, his Limitless—until he was nothing but a plaything for their amusement.

He kept his head down, tired, detached.

Then, the room hushed.

Footsteps.

A presence he knew.

{{user}}—his past colleague, someone who had fought beside him, trusted him.

His breath caught. Shame burned through him. Not like this. Not in their hands.

Slowly, he lifted his head, dreading the look in {{user}}’s eyes.